How Can You Confuse Black Coffee?

One morning last week I turned on C-Span TV network. C-Span has a morning show where people call in and talk about some issue or another in the news. On this particular day the subject was the new healthcare program being proposed by the US Senate.

The callers were divided into three categories — Democrats, Republicans, Independents. Each caller was allowed a reasonable amount of time to make their case for or against the bill.  Some made sense. Some made no sense.  But one stood out.

An older woman called (no faces are seen but voice tone is a pretty good indicator of age) who had the most amazing opinion. She asked for how long we have been  trying to find a cure for cancer.

The TV moderator estimated research had been going on for 70 years or so.  The caller then asked if we had found a cure yet. The moderator said no.  The caller then declared, with the utmost sincerity, that we had wasted millions and millions and millions of dollars trying to find a cancer cure.  According to her we should immediately stop throwing away money on cancer research and re-direct it to taking care of sick people. Doing this, in her mind, would save the healthcare system.

Between the TV moderator, myself and I’m sure everyone watching there was a coordinated rolling of the eyes and laughing out loud at the proposed cure for our ailing health system.

I thought to myself are people really and truly that dense?

Well, I got my answer later that day when I met a friend of mine for a business meeting. We were sitting at a casual outdoor coffee shop in the Flatiron district of Manhattan to go over a TV show proposal.  Before we got into the details we called one of the wait-staff over to order.   My friend asked for tea. When the wait-staffer turned to me I said I would like a cup of coffee.  I was then asked how I would like my coffee and I said, “Black.”

The charming, cheerful, eager, bubbly wait-staffer smiled at me and asked, “Would you like milk with that?”

I couldn’t believe it!  Two dense-confirming, eye-rolling incidents in less than 24 hours.

True story.


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Just minutes ago I was evacuated from my office due to a fire in the building basement. Right now I’m in the cafeteria of another building just a block away that my firm uses for administrative office space.

All evacuees are safe. But I’m loopy. Which shouldn’t be surprising since it doesn’t take much more than a change of daily routine to do it.

I guess you could say I suffer from the curse of unstructured time. I am a list person. Lists on legal pads. Lists on paper scraps. Lists on my cell phone. Lists are the anchor that keeps me from getting squirelly.

When I don’t have a list to structure my day I feel adrift – like going around and around in a loop.

So while I wait for the fire department to give an all-clear signal to return to my office I guess I’ll make two lists. One of the things I still have to do today. The other of the things I could do if they shut the entire building.

Know what? I’m just going to make a list of the could-do things and go do them.

Not loopy anymore.

True story. 

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A good-hearted guy asked me to help him with a pproject. He wants to make a documentary ir TV series about his business which helps children with “special needs.” But first we need funding. Never having done this before I’m entering unknown territory. So I will be keeping the world posted about the process.  And in keeping with the theme of this blog every step taken and written about will be true.

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Large type music

So I go into a Starbucks before a business meeting.  I have 30 minutes to spare. I think a cup of coffee would be fine. Now I’m not a big Starbucks fan but it was freezing outside and being a…

Source: Large type music

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Large type music

So I go into a Starbucks before a business meeting.  I have 30 minutes to spare. I think a cup of coffee would be fine. Now I’m not a big Starbucks fan but it was freezing outside and being able to sit in a warm coffee shop was irresistible.

Inside I ordered my cup of black coffee and sat down at a long table.  I thought to myself I’ll look through my phone and warm my bones at the same time.

Sitting, sipping and scrolling I noticed that there was music coming through the overhead speakers.  And it was music that had clear lyrics and brassy horns.  I found myself tapping my feet and thinking back to when I first heard the tune.  It had to be at least 50 years ago.  Guess that makes it a classic.

I then heard someone next to me ask another person, “Who is that singing?” The person being asked said, “I’m not sure.  I think it’s Tony Bennett.”

I glanced over, curious to see who this person with the young voice was who actually knew Tony Bennett.  The Tony fan turned out to be an Asian man. He was asked the singer’s identity by another young Asian man and sitting between them was a middle aged African American woman who didn’t think the singer was Tony but she wasn’t sure who it could be.

As they discussed the identity back and forth I listened and then chimed in with, “It’s Bobby Darren.”  The trio said, “Who?” and I repeated, “Bobby Darren.  And the song he’s singing is called Mack the Knife.”

None of the three had ever heard of Bobby Darren, which didn’t surprise me, but they all liked the sound of his voice.  (Poor Bobby. If only he was around to hear this.)

The woman then asked me if I could write down the name of the singer for the two Asian men. They were visiting New York from Hong Kong and they wanted to purchase the music and take it back west to the Far East.

I pulled a small notebook from my carry-everything bag and printed on a piece of composition book paper,  “B-0-b-b-y  D-a-r-r-e-n”

The lady, who was a friend of the two men, didn’t even look at the paper but she immediately said, “Could you print it large please?”  As if she expected me to write the name down in small type.

I turned the paper over and printed, “B-O-B-B-Y  D-A-R-R-E-N”.  She took the paper and handed it to one of the men and everyone thanked me – a lot. Boy, they were really appreciative.  I thought to myself that they must not be from New York. Not to say we New Yorkers aren’t courteous but we do have our limitations.

Glancing down on the table I noticed that the woman had in front of her three white sticks, around 12 inches apiece. Because they seemed to be so interested in the music playing I made an assumption and asked her, “Are you a drummer?  Are those your drum sticks?”

The woman looked at me as well as the two men and the trio laughed.  Suddenly looking at them in the eyes, and then glancing down at the white sticks on the table, I realized the obvious.

“Me?  A drummer?  No, those aren’t drum sticks. That’s my walking stick.” And she picked up the pile of sticks and with a couple of whips of her wrists unfolded them into a 4 foot long, white walking stick.

“I’m blind but my friends here can see a bit. That’s why we asked you to write down the name of the singer in large type.”

I paused and actually said, “Oh, I see.”  Luckily they laughed.

True story.


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Profits from people…Profits for people

I posted a comment on Facebook that generated some interesting responses. I was watching a show on C-SPAN with two economic spokespersons for business organizations who were discussing the state of the economy as of January 2017.

One of the commentators said something that I didn’t realize.  Between 2000 and 2010 over a million jobs were lost in the USA. Of those million jobs 80% of them were lost to automation.  In other words businesses found cheaper and more efficient ways to run their operations.

Wow!  That means it wasn’t because of hordes of cheap labor immigrant that jobs disappeared.  It was simply free enterprise being free to do what they want in order to run their businesses at a profit.  If that meant machines would make the product at a lower price than humans and not demand healthcare, sick days, or vacation pay then so be it.

I’m no business expert but I do know that in our capitalist system an enterprise is free to function they way it wants as long as it is within the law.

For some reason a few people who read my post didn’t believe that automation had displaced so many jobs.  Instead of getting into an argument or debate I posted a story from Fortune magazine basically reiterating the point that automation had done away with many, many jobs.

All of which led me to think of another point — are we at a crossroads here?  Is the motivation for a business to be just to make profits through the work of its employees or is the driving force to be a fair distribution of those profits for the employees?

I always thought that competitive wages would determine how profits were distributed.  The better you were as a worker the more you received in salary (or a share of the profits if you will).

Now I’m hearing that according to the movement of the day a company should be forced, or politically extorted, into making profits only for one group (Americans) and those profits should be distributed only to that group.

I asked a number of everyday workers what they thought of the two premises and the answer I got back from every single one of them was the same.  Basically it came down to, “I don’t care how much profit a company makes as long as I’m getting a fair share of it.”

Got it. Keep it simple stupid.

True story.

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Now this is diversity

Yesterday morning I was standing on the subway platform thinking of nothing other than where is the train and what’s holding it up.

I looked down to the end of the platform and saw three New York City transit workers huddled together. They appeared to be discussing something and not coming to an agreement.  Their arms flailing about and their raised voices was a hint.

Out of curiosity, and getting bored  waiting for the subway, I wandered down to where they were standing so I could listen in on their conversation.

It seems they had to put up a sign announcing a change of schedule for the trains. This must have been an unexpected change because they were going to write the sign out by hand and tape it to one of the pillars that extends from the platform to the station ceiling.

What struck me was the three men themselves. There was a Hispanic, a Sikh complete with turban, and a Jamaican.

Their discussion was energetic, animated and made all the more interesting by the blending of the three distinctive accents. Together they formed an almost poetic sound that reverberated off the tile walls of the subway tunnel.

When I finally figured out what they were discussing I smiled and laughed to myself. It seems they were debating whether one of the phrases they had to write on the sign should be “don’t” or “do not.”

Here were three men for whom the American version of English is most likely their second language trying mightily to determine the proper usage of a common phrase we English-first-language speakers take for granted.  But they were going to get it right.

I don’t know about all of America but I know this…you don’t have to make New York City great again.  With conscientious people like this we already are.

True story.


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